The Inspirational Story of Emily's Story

As the smoke from distant fires forced everyone interested in breathing to stay indoors, a young writer named Emily found herself captivated by the surreal and suffocating nature of her surroundings. 

Emily peered out of her window, her eyes drawn to the eerie orange sky. Through the other wordly haze, she spotted a familiar figure emerging from the shadows. It was an elderly woman named Evelyn, wearing a Covid mask that obscured her face. Emily's curiosity was piqued by the incongruent presence of this normative neighbor on such a peculiar day.  Of all the people on Serenity Street, Evelyn was the last person that Emily expected to see on this day of sudden quarantine.

Evelyn was a homebody who had once invited Emily to visit her beautifully tended garden; an oasis so serene that Emily wrote a story about the therepeutic calm of the beautiful place. Emily got an A for her story. 

Under the orange sky, Emily's imagination began to take control

When Emily's narrative gaze fell upon Mrs. Evelyn, the enigmatic figure that emerged from the shadowy haze of the toxic air, she was struck by the bizarre wardrobe that covered her. Mrs. Evelyn, normally in the most unimaginative of clothing, wore a long, tattered, short sleeved cloak that draped over her skeletal form, its fabric a deep, faded black that seemed to absorb the dim light cast by the orange sky. The cloak, once elegant and regal, now hung in disrepair, threads unraveling like the fraying edges of sanity.

Beneath the worn cloak, Mrs. Evelyn donned a dress that mirrored the eerie danger and threat of her surroundings. It was a gown of midnight blue, its fabric whispering secrets as it shifted with every cautious step she took. Embroidered with intricate, thorny patterns, the dress seemed to mimic the twisted branches of long-forgotten forests, etched onto the very fabric that encased Mrs. Evelyn's transformed presence.

 She wore a mask, a lunatic creation of cracked porcelain adorned with intricate silver filigree. The mask's hollow eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, stared out from behind its delicate facade, rendering Mrs. Evelyn an enigma in the eyes of the beholder.

In counterpoint to her tattered cloak, Ms. Evelyn wore elbow length, black leather gloves. 

As Emily continued to observe and imagine this transformed and transfixing figure from the safety of her window, the ensemble worn by Mrs. Evelyn only served to suggest further mystery and layers of narrative possibility. Every aspect of her appearance seemed to hint at a mixed media collage of forgotten elegance now consumed by the orange cloud of  toxic air. It was a visual that fueled Emily's imagination and laid the foundation for the  tale she was writing. 

The orange had long ago become a permanent condition as smoke from the fires of Canada had caused irreparable damage to the environment and had continued to burn for months.

In every calamity, someone takes advantage.

As Emily began to weave her tale, Mrs. Evelyn took on an evermore disturbing persona. In her story, Mrs. Evelyn was a master opportunist, an agent of chaos lurking amidst the toxic air. She used the calamity to her advantage, preying upon the freaked out vulnerable and exploiting their fears.

She would approach overwhelmed neighbors, offering them a false sense of safety from the poisoned air. In exchange, she demanded their unquestioning loyalty, slowly ensnaring them in her web of deceit and control. All of her followers learned to kiss her gloves as a demonstration of humilty, need and reverence.

The once-inspiring  garden that Mrs. Evelyn cultivated in Emily's previous story now transformed into a twisted haven of poisonous, trance inducing plants, symbolizing her corrupt influence over nature itself. It mirrored the poisoned souls of her followers, who had become as tainted and toxic as the world outside.

Emily's imagination delved into the depths of darkness, exploring the malevolence that could arise from the dire circumstances of the toxic air.As Emily completed her tale, she couldn't help but feel a chill crawl up her spine. The story she had crafted served as a reminder of the darkness that could reside within the human psyche when confronted with catastrophe. It was a cautionary tale that highlighted the potential for political corruption and sexual exploitation when fear, desperation and orange clouds obliterate judgment.

Still under the spell of creative frisson, Emily set aside her pen, her imagination having taken her to an unsettling place. She realized the power of storytelling to explore the depths of human nature, even the darkest aspects. As she looked out at the orange sky, she couldn't help but wonder if there was a kernel of truth in the fictional tale she had spun.....who would believe that the sky would turn orange....yet there it was.